


Blessed

by anotherjadedwriter



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, I guess anyway., Large Insertion, Multiple Orgasms, Pegging, Sexual Exhaustion, Some Plot, Stomach Bulge, nook!scar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 23:00:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4037851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherjadedwriter/pseuds/anotherjadedwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's amazing. You mean, you've never actually met her in person, but you know she's amazing because you've talked to her online.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blessed

**Author's Note:**

> in which Dualscar has a huge crush on the Empress and the Empress has an aura that makes people love her

You’ve never met the Empress before. You’ve wanted to (who hasn’t? even her dissenters are weirdly infatuated with her), but you haven’t quite had the chance. Speaking online or on the phone isn’t the same as meeting face-to-face, seeing her in all her glory and hearing her voice with no filter and being able to smell her and actually touch her maybe, you want to touch her. You hope she allows you to touch her.

The meeting time was easy enough, the place was obvious, and getting here was no problem. You are the Orphaner, you work for her directly. You’ve just never had the chance to actually meet her before now. In fact, the only reason you are is because you accidentally sent her a message about something pointless, some lusus that’d been running around causing trouble and your reluctance to deal with it, and she’d responded. It seemed, to you, that she was just teasing you, but you replied back, apologizing for bothering her and swearing up and down that it would never happen again.

But she asked you to bother her again, and the Empress isn’t someone you’re inclined to say no to.

So, you started chatting with her pretty regularly, after she’d decided to be finished with whatever work she had and you’d decided to set a time aside to send her a message. She was fun to talk to, unsurprisingly, perfectly comfortable with letting you rant about whatever bullcarp was on your mind until she got bored, and generally just friendly, even flirty, and you, well. You welcomed it. It was nice, even if it was someone pretending to be )(er, you liked the attention. Then came video chats, voice calls, you worked yourself up to actually asking about her, and she asked to meet you, because it was silly that you worked for her and she’d never even met you once.

So you’re here, in her main room after the guards have been shooed off and you’re alone with her and you’re nearly overwhelmed.

She’s imposing. Like, more than you thought she’d be, even after all the chats and videos and everything. She’s not even taller than you, she’s just powerful. Her horns have bars and rings through them, her fins are dangling with more gold than you’ve ever seen, her suit is like another skin, and you are so turned on it fucking hurts.

She basically floats when she walks to you, and you’re still frozen, too amazed that you’re even here to react until she cups your cheek, and then you just make this weak little whimper, this sound that just means you want her to take you and just do anything she wants. Her lips curl back in a grin and you shiver, letting her pull you down and kiss you, her hand slipping into your hair, the other tickling over your gills.

Her tongue traces over your teeth, wraps around your own, her hands follow the lines of your body, your hips and shoulders and everywhere, going on forever it seems, and when you feel like you can’t breathe, the filaments in your gills rolling out and you’re terrified for an instant because her claws are right there, but she’s too gentle to make you have to keep worrying. You’re backing up, not in fear but because she’s leading you back, pressing you into the wall and then you can feel her rumblespheres and your nook is getting slick already.

When she finally lets you breathe, you gasp and find yourself clinging to her, needy, claws caught in her hair and lips feeling bruised, and she just laughs, bumping her nose against yours. “Pretty lil guppy.” That makes your fins flare out on either side of your face, and she coos, pinching one between her forefinger and thumb. “Aren’t you?”

“Y-yeah.” You’re flushed purple to the gills and you manage a nod, and that makes her laugh and it’s so great, she laughed because you nodded, that’s so great. You smile, and she purrs, petting through your hair. “Thank you.”

She grins again and you almost swoon, almost fall over but she’s sturdy and she’s sizing you up, her hands going everywhere. “I bet you want me ta fuck you, right, pretty thing? Take that nice lil nook of yours so hard you can’t walk straight.” Her tongue skirts over your gill and you shudder, moaning. “Wanna kneel for me, sweet lil thing?”

You kneel, not even pausing, just sitting on your feet and looking up at her all flushed. Her hand, The Empress herself, runs her hand through your hair again and you purr, let her pull you forward and nuzzle at her bulgesheathe without a second thought. She’s cooing praise at you and you soak it up, mouthing at her bulge as it slithers free of her sheathe and twists down her thigh, and then separates? Oh, she has more than one, more than you can count with her rubbing your horns like she is.

You have no idea how her suit works, but she gently pushes you back for just a second and then her bulges are twisting free, fuschia and beautiful and glistening. She groans when you take one as far as you can, tells you that you’re gorgeous, and you’re so wet. Her thumb presses into your mouth, opens it wider, and you manage not to jolt when another of her bulges slips in beside the first. She murmurs something you don’t hear over the blood rushing in your ears and you manage to get three in your mouth, your throat, and you feel so proud, even if your nook is throbbing with want.

Her hips move shallowly and you’re panting, barely able to breathe while she uses you and tells you how pretty you look, how wonderfully you’re doing, that she’s enjoying herself just as much as she can be. Her other bulges (you’re not sure how many and it’s intimidating, as well as arousing) are wrapped around her thighs, long and thick-looking. You try to swallow around her bulges and choke, so she pulls you back, petting through your hair while you lean into her hands and purr. “Think you can take these?” She coos, her tongue dragging over the points of her teeth while she stares at you.

“Please.” You manage, thighs pressed together. “I, I can take ‘em, please.”

Her voice is this warm thing, makes you want to kiss her again. “Bet you can, buoy. Lessee whatcha got.” She’s already helping you to your feet, pulling your armor off so fast you’re pretty sure she snapped something in the process, but then her claws and fingers are sliding under your pants, slipping them past your hips. You lean forward and she kisses you, smiling and biting and when your pants finally fall there’s a bead of prematerial on your inner thigh, rolling towards the floor. She pulls back when your bottom lip has stopped bleeding and your hands are starting to wander on her, tentatively feeling the lines of her hips and the rounds of her rumblespheres, to catch one hand in her own.

You don’t even have to think twice about following her, your thighs slick and your ears buzzing with all the praises and promises she’s making, saying that she’s gonna keep you around, that you’re just too cute to let go and that she bets your nook is even better than your throat. You manage a few assurances that you’ll do your best, that you’re loving how it’s going and that you think maybe you kind of love her? But mostly you’re just chirping the sort of feral, submissive noises any matesprit or kismesis worth their salt would want to hear. At what you assume is the door to her block (where are the servants, you wonder vaguely), she kisses you against the door, catches you from falling when it opens up and then she pushes you onto a platform, kind of resting in the center of the room on a dias.

The feeling of claws on your groin should make you shy away, but when they flatten into fingertips and press into your nook all you manage is a warble, oversensitive and wet, so wet. You croon, chirrup and mewl, anything to make her hurry, to get at least one of her bulges inside your nook before you fall apart at the seams. Your legs spread on their own, fall open to show yourself to her completely, and her fingers crook inside you and brush against the opening of your seedflap. You croon, and she purrs.

“Sweet nook, pretty buoy.” Her fingers twist on the last word and you arch, just barely. “Tight.”

You manage to push the fog out of your mind after a few slow breaths, and then you look down your body at her, trying to look attractive. “I’m ready. I can take them, let me try, please.” It’s a little embarrassing how close to a whine your voice is, but she doesn’t seem to mind, so that’s alright.

“Think so?” She murmurs, apparently to herself, and slides her fingers out of your nook.

Even if it’s only by the smallest amount, she’s colder than you, her blood is, and when her bulge slithers against your nook you gasp from it. It’s slick with it’s own prematerial, and she trails it over the lips of your nook slowly, like she could wait all night to pail you. It’s very nearly soothing, the cool and smooth movements, but the friction makes you shiver, makes a slow orgasm start to creep up your spine. By the time she starts to slip inside your nook, you’re starting to twitch, your thighs and calves shivering against the silky sheet on her platform.

Sighing, you come, knees pushing inwards before she presses them apart. As you’re working through that, she slides a hand up your stomach, to your chest, thankfully not playing with your gills. You mean, yeah, you can like that kind of thing, but you also just met her for real and you’ve heard stories of her lacing coarse twine in a dissenter’s gills and tearing them out one by one (which, in a way you’re not about to admit, is also arousing) so you’re a little concerned.

She just pets you, though, a second bulge slipping into your nook as it flutters, twisting along the other one and them curling over itself like the first. You squawk, shake a little, and roll your hips back against hers, soaking up the coo she makes like she’d just given you the only compliment you’ve ever gotten in your life. The third one pressing in has you chirping, close again already, and when they wrap around each other inside you you keen, globes aching as you come. You’re halfway between numb and oversensitized, and then her fourth bulge is slithering against your nook and you mewl, panting.

“Shore you got this?” She coos, grinning a teasing grin while she speaks to you like you’re a wriggler carrying too many boxes at once. “You’re shakin.”

It takes some effort, but you force your legs to work, so you can lift yourself in display, your fins fluttering annoyingly. “I can take them. Lemme take them, please.” You’re honestly surprised she hasn’t said anything about your lack of bulge, but you guess it’s not much of a reason for concern. As long as she doesn’t stop, everything feels great.

“Cocky lil guppy. I like that.” She purrs, her words rolling against your ears wonderfully, all smooth and deep like the ocean’s currents. “Ask me one more time.”

You slide your hands down your chest, trying to look attractive even though you’re sweating and dripping onto the sheets and your hair is sticking to your face and you feel like you probably look like a mess. “Please. I can take all of them.” Your head falls back and you croon another of those feral, submissive sounds, all your soft, defenseless spots bared because she’s got the kind of powerful air about her that makes you want to kneel.

“Mmm, good boy.” She coos, pulling herself back to lead the fourth into you. “Tell me when you need me to stop.”

What was supposed to be “I won’t need to” comes out as a babble, because she’s pressing her fifth bulge into you (how many does she have, fuck) and the others are all twisting everywhere and pressing against everything and it’s already enough of a stretch to make your nook ache, to have you gasping like there’s no space around her bulges to breathe, even. She lets you adjust as well as you can, hitching your knee up over her hip and just rocking into you, her other bulges (you’re more than a little concerned with how many there are now) writhing against the backs of your thighs and your ass. Her hands are petting you everywhere, her immaculately painted lips in that shark grin, but you think that might just be her smile.

The points of her teeth skirt your collar bone when she leans over you, and you keen when she sinks her teeth into your shoulder, and then your blood is welling up around them and you’re sure she’s going to take a chunk of you and swallow it, but she doesn’t even let you bleed much, lapping at the wound until it stops stinging. You’re shivering, teeth chattering, and then you yell out loud when you come, suddenly, everything feeling white-hot and too good, the material trying to pour from your nook trapped by her bulges. You’re not really sure you actually can manage to take the others, because what if she has ten more? Who knows what your body can do, but you’d still want to try, because god, just thinking about it makes you croon.

But, that’s also to do with the fact that she’s squeezing another bulge into your nook, one hand leading it in while the other has a thumb pressed right to the sensitive spot just over your nook, pressed hard enough that you can barely manage to twitch and shiver and babble that you’ll die if she stops, you’re sure you won’t survive her stopping now, you need her bulges, you can take them. It stings, being stretched like this stings and aches but you’ll die if she stops, even though you can’t properly close your mouth and you keep making these noises and your legs aren’t listening when you tell them to make you move against her.

Which is just as well, you guess, she’s got it handled, she leads you into another orgasm when her hips press against your ass, and as you’re starting to come down, your head still tossed to the side, she’s tracing her claws over your twitching abdomen. When you manage to look down, you see why she’s taken such an interest in it; her bulges are twisting under the skin of your stomach, pressing up and partially distending it. Seeing that, you shudder, moan something low and wordless, and fall back to the platform to squirm and drool. Your head falls to the side, she murmurs that you’re almost there, and then there are two bulges slipping in alongside the others.

Finally, your legs decide to work and your hips buck, but she keeps her surprisingly strong grip on you to keep you from rushing her. The bulges in you twist and probe and reach and you can’t even breathe, you can’t breathe but you keep keening and shaking and you have tears and drool on your face and she presses fully into you and then leans up to brush your hair out of your eyes with this gentle little smile and

Everything goes white for an instant, white and hot and too much and perfect, and when you can see again you’re still thrashing a little, weakly, because you came again and your nook can’t even contract around all of her bulges. You can feel your material and her prematerial pooling under your ass, you can smell her sharply, perfume and sex and sweat and the ocean, you can feel every twitch of her bulges inside you, feel every tickle of her hair on your hips and chest when she leans over to kiss you so deeply you forget that you’re even supposed to be breathing in the first place, you nearly pass out.

But only nearly.

Everything goes back to too-fast and too-much, and your thoughts fade into sensations, her hands on your chest and stomach, her bulges stretching you wide enough that it really does hurt, but not in a way you don’t like, in a manageable way, her lips on yours and then on your neck, her tongue in your gills, you’re not even sure you could come if you wanted with all the stimulation she’s giving you. Her touches are nearly pale, trying to be soothing even though she’s got a look on her face like she’s waiting to see if she can key you up more, eyes wide and teeth showing in a snarl, or maybe a grimace.

She’s moving slower than she had been, too, rocking forward and back with a leisurely pace that still has you on the edge. Your hips hurt, you can barely even move anything, but you don’t want her to stop. You’re begging her for more, faster, something, you’re whimpering and drooling an keening and begging her to break you because at the moment, that’s what you want from her. She’s cooing, mostly just noise but occasionally telling you to wait, she’s letting you wait, and you’re gonna hurt yourself if you’re not careful (she giggles when she says that, and you flush).

It takes all your concentration to stop rolling into her, but you do it, laying under her and whining while she makes you wait. Thankfully, it only lasts a few moments, and then she adjusts her footing, lifts your hips in her hands (she’s so strong) and starts to move, slamming into you harder than she had been before and jarring your entire body. You’re sobbing moans, tears streaming down your face, and you lift yourself on your elbows to look down and watch the bumps of her bulges on your abdomen, shudder and fall back when they twist apart and push against everything at once.

Even with her bulges writhing against everything and quickly pushing you towards another orgasm, she doesn’t slow, and just gets faster, growling something you don’t understand, but then it doesn’t matter because you scream as you come, your entire body going limp while your nook flutters and twitches and feels too full and hot. Your back arches tight, though, pulling you up from the platform while you grip the sheets and your eyes go wide, mouth falling totally open because she’s got you pinned just right, has you falling headlong into another orgasm already.

After that, it’s constant, you’re not sure if you just can’t come down or if they keep coming but it’s good, it has you sobbing and thrashing and it’s good, it’s good, you keep telling her that, keep begging her to keep going and it hurts but it’s a good hurt, it’s a too-good too-much too-great hurt that makes your legs totally limp and your hands ball into fists to tear her sheets. It’s great, so great that you only kind of notice her curling over you with a groan before you feel her material start gushing into you.

There’s so much, but so little space around her bulges, and you croon, thighs twitching when you try to close them. She purrs, slamming into you still, pumping you full of her royal material and muttering that she wonders if what they say about breeding classes is true. You can’t make yourself worry about what that even means, though, because she’s coming so much. It’s so much, you already felt like you were about to split open, and now you’re stuck with all her bulges pressing hard against the opening of your seedflap at once and you’re shaking too hard to think straight.

You scream when your material sac opens, feeling the material trapped in your nook fill it quickly, yours and hers and it’s so much, the feeling is too much, and she’s still fucking you, though her bulges are starting to slow down now. You just shudder and twitch under her as she slows, keeps herself pressed right to you until her bulges retract and there’s a flood of material that just pours onto the mattress out of you and you coo, jumping with a tiny aftershock.

She presses on your material sac and makes it open again, pushes everything out of you and then just lets you lay there, trying to catch your breath and feeling chilled and clingy for a few minutes. When she comes back, she’s actually naked, even barefoot, and she pets your hair, purring soothing little murmurs while you figure out how to function. At some point, she asks if you want to stay there and you say no, because she’s walking to the door, and you’re sure she’s going to tell you to walk but she looks at you and her face changes, gets softer, and she walks to you, scoops you under the back and under your knees, and carries you. She’s so strong.

You’re more than comfortable by the time she squeezes into her oversized coon with you, because she paused in her wobbly walk to rinse off with you in a too-cold shower that ended up making your sore everything a bit less so, and you were amazed at how free she was with her kisses, how gentle she was and how she asked you how you were feeling. You mean, you had some vague feeling that you were a one-time-thing for her; she hasn’t had an official matesprit or anything in ages, and why would she be this nice otherwise?

Head on her chest, pressed to her rumblespheres and sleepy, you only kind of look up when she says “smile”, a drunk, tired grin already painted on your lips. The shutter sound of her phone’s camera doesn’t really concern you, because she kisses your forehead and massages your back and promises that she’s got the next evening free and that she wants to keep you around a little. You say that’s fine, it’s all fine, and admit that this feels like a dream.

She laughs out loud when you start to doze off after saying you feel really blessed, asking in a low voice what your name is. You tell her, and she says that you can call her Condy. She’s there when you wake up, so you feel really, really fucking good.

**Author's Note:**

> I keep accidentally writing characters with only nooks, hm  
> if you enjoyed this, consider tipping me here: https://ko-fi.com/A781PZJ


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